


The Craftsman and the Elf

by melagan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9135982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/pseuds/melagan
Summary: A John and Rodney take on the Shoemaker and the Elf.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Winter Magic challenge at Story Works. Beta credit and thanks to em_kellesvig.

Leaning back in his chair, John Sheppard crumpled the sheet of paper into a ball and tossed it into the waste bin. He spent a lot of time on his designs and he was proud of them but some were never going to work. He could tell within a few pen strokes which ones felt wrong.

He'd be the first to admit thinking about flying and flying machines occupied most of his day and a number of his dreams. Piloting one of the great ships took training and training took money—a lot of it. John didn't have any family to borrow money from, so he needed to earn it himself. That was okay; he had a plan. 

Living three flights up gave him an excellent view of the city. He loved looking out over the rooftops from his favorite window. He could follow the shifts in the wind by watching curls of steam rise up from their pipe chimneys to disappear into the clear blue sky. This time of year the sky was the kind of deep blue that only seemed to come with the sharp, cold days of midwinter.

It wasn't so much that John loved winter. It could get damn cold here. Plus, wading through six inches of snow was never fun when your boots were stuffed with newsprint to patch their holes. Still, these quiet winter days were when he had some of his best ideas.

His fledgling company, _Pegasus Aeroflight_ was small, just he and two other people. But now, thanks to Teyla's persistence, he had a meeting tomorrow that could turn their luck around. In the nick of time too. The rent was overdue and the remaining food in his cupboard was down to one tin of tomato soup and a package of stale crackers. 

He had two dollars left on his transit pass, which would be just enough to get to get him and his design model over to Dr. Weir and her team at New Lantia Enterprises.

Once he finished the model. 

Ronon Dex had tirelessly scrounged, traded, and bartered for the parts John needed. Teyla Emmagan had worked hard to get their young company a foot in the door, showing his designs to a running tally of flight controllers and aeroline corporations before finally scoring this appointment for him. 

The folks at New Lantia were looking for something new and fresh. Something safe, but faster than the wind and propeller driven dirigibles currently in use. Well, so was he, and he'd been working toward that for years. 

Rockets had been tried and failed miserably. The epic disaster that took thirty-six lives in a fiery crash had condemned that mode of transport and given rise to a gentler if slower method of air travel.

John's latest design used a system of rotors and steam propulsion. With it, a pilot could engage vertical takeoff, hover, and fly in a horizontal flight path in any direction. Any direction, meaning zero dependency on the wind currents. He'd found the holy grail of air travel, one currently thought unachievable. According to Teyla, that possibility alone had put a sparkle in Dr. Weir's eye and assured him the appointment. 

He absently tapped the pad of paper with his pen nib, lost in thought. Once he worked out the kinks in the valve system, he could reduce the turning radius to a degree any pilot would sell his soul for. 

Setting the sketch aside, John began laying out his supplies on the workbench. The blueprints were tacked up on the wall behind it, but by now, he had them memorized. He'd sweat over every detail, including the color of the paint. Glancing at the clock, he realized he'd lost track of time, again. The clock hands had moved well past midnight. 

He only had enough supplies to make one model, and he couldn't afford to screw it up. Tomorrow then, he'd get up bright and early and finish the model when he could look at it with fresh eyes and enthusiasm. Decision made, he went to bed and dreamt of signed contracts and a cupboard full of food to share with his friends. 

***

John stumbled into the kitchen, scratching at his day stubble and squinting against the bright sunlight streaming through his kitchen window. Well, fuck, he'd overslept, on possibly the most important day of his life. Grabbing his largest mug, he held it under the coffee maker's brass spigot and waited for his hot coffee to gurgle its way through the pipes. 

As coffee sputtered into his cup, he tapped the timer. The gauge swung back and forth between the red and green zones before settling on the number three line. Damn, he'd forgotten to set the timer before going to bed. At least the steam kept the coffee hot. 

He refused to panic. He had—okay, not that much time to assemble the model before his appointment—but still—not panicking. Much. Shaving could wait. Hell, dressing could wait. John hitched up his sleep pants, grabbed his coffee, and headed straight for his workroom.

He stood in the doorway and stared. There on the bench sat a perfectly assembled model—of his flying machine. He took a few cautious steps forward, expecting it to be some kind of prank, or maybe he was still asleep and dreaming. 

Picking it up, he inspected every inch of it. Whoever had done this had each detail perfect. He couldn't have done it better himself. "Ronon? Teyla? You've been holding out on me. This looks great. C'mon, which one of you guys did this?" 

No answer. The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose and he set the model down very carefully. Shit. John backed out of the room. He'd dress and shave, and definitely have a second cup of coffee. Maybe the mysterious builder would make himself known by then. If not, well, he still had an appointment to keep and no other choice than to take this model with him.

***

He pushed the door closed with his foot and managed to get both bags of groceries into the kitchen without spilling anything. John couldn't stop grinning. He had a spanking new contract with New Lantia and he'd gotten to meet their top designer, Dr. Radek Zelenka. He had coin in his bank account, enough to buy supplies for two new designs, and Ronon and Teyla were coming over tonight to celebrate. 

John uncapped a bottle of brew and took a long swig. "Thank you, whoever you are, you saved my bacon today." 

"John, who are you talking to?" Teyla asked. She stood in the doorway, brushing the snow off her woolen vest and beaming from ear-to-ear. 

"Come in." John passed her a bottle. "It's still cold. I haven't been inside long enough for it to warm up, yet."

She took the bottle. "It always surprises me how warm your apartment stays, even on these cold winter days."

"It's the boiler system. The floor is always warm." 

"The boiler system you helped design, you mean," she teased. 

"Hey, I just suggested an improvement or two to the landlord; he didn't have to take my advice."

"Perhaps." She passed the bottle back, unopened. "Thank you but what I would truly enjoy is some of your coffee, John. I feel as though the wind blew straight through my garments and I am not yet ready for anything cold."

"Of course. Sorry. Sit, get comfortable, and I'll make you a cup. Guess I got a little excited over the news."

"It is very good news." She laughed, a light, cheery sound that reminded John all over again how lucky he was to have her as a friend. 

"Ronon will be along soon. He took some of the coin you gave him and is buying supplies for your next designs."

"Great. Gives me time to get the rest of the meal on the table." John said. 

The table was set, Teyla had finished her coffee and just accepted a bottle of John's brew when Ronon stepped through the door. He carried an armful of odd shaped bundles. "Sheppard, got another one of those?" he asked.

John took the supplies and as carried them into his workroom he called over his shoulder, "Brew's in the icebox. Help yourself."

He'd barely started to unload his bags when both Ronon and Teyla, each taking him by one elbow, unceremoniously walked him back to the dinner table. 

"Food first, Sheppard. Teyla and I both know how you get when you start a new project. You'll forget to eat," Ronon said.

"Or shower, or shave," Teyla shook her head. "I have seen you forget how to fasten your own suspenders. Give yourself one night, John, to relax and celebrate our good fortune."

"I just thought…"

"Just one night, Sheppard. Now sit and eat." Ronon clapped him on the shoulder, then pushed him into a chair, and put a plate of food down in front of him. 

Rolling with it, John held his brew up in a toast. "To the best damn friends and partners a man could have."

*** 

John pulled the pillow over his face. He knew it was morning because the coffee maker was chirping at him. He didn't remember setting the timer, but he must have. Damn, when did he become such a lightweight that a couple of brews put him under the table?

Slowly, it trickled into is half-awake brain that they'd had a damn good reason to celebrate. He rolled out of bed eager to start. Ronon had provided a good selection of supplies; John just had to decide which of his backlog of sketches to assemble first. 

Coffee in hand, he stepped into his workroom and froze. Someone had snuck in during the night and put his models together. Bafflement warred with anger. Anger because someone invaded his privacy and took the liberty of using his supplies and tools. Bafflement because he couldn't figure out how they'd gotten in or why they would spend time doing this. 

His sketchpad lay open. Without blueprints to go by, whoever did this used John's drawings. The work was just as precise as the first time. He picked up each model in turn. They were remarkably well-done and impressive as hell. 

He picked up his sketchpad and discovered his mystery benefactor had left him a note. 

_These aren't completely horrible; they may even work. I adjusted the angle of the cupola lens on the second model. You'll find it much more effective if your plan is to focus the sun's energy for power. Clever really, and I don't say that often._

Damn it. He sipped at his coffee and contemplated his next move. He intended to find out who was doing this even if it meant he had to stay awake all night to do it. 

*** 

John tacked the blueprints of his latest design on the wall. He'd worked three days on this, and used the last of the grocery money to buy supplies. This one was different from the rest. Rather than an areocraft that could carry a dozen or more, this one only had room for two, a pilot and co-pilot. 

That night he left the workshop door cracked open. Pulling up a chair, he sat and watched through the crack to see if his benefactor showed up. He almost fell asleep but a creak in the floorboard roused him.

John jumped up and flung the door open. 

The stranger bending over John's designs spun around and clutched his hand over his heart. "Are you crazy!? You could have given me a heart attack."

"Who are you?" John demanded. 

"I'm a helper elf. And notoriously underappreciated if you don't mind my saying so." 

"What are you doing here?"

The elf held up two pieces of the model. "I would think that was obvious."

"You don't look like an elf." The stranger John was staring at was a full-grown man near his own age. Aside from the work apron he wore, he was stark naked. Even his feet were bare.

"Yes, well, I get that a lot. Oh, you can call me Rodney. Trust me, I wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for that blackmailing witch. You refer to one vengeful harridan as the wrong sex—and with the chin hairs—well, apparently that's not a reliable factor with witches." Rodney sighed. 

"I—I don't know what that means," John said. 

"Clearly you need to go to bed and just forget me and that this ever happened." Rodney shooed him toward the door. "You'll wake up, find your model all finished and be happily baffled all the way to the bank."

"My name's John."

"Yes, I know. You wrote it on the blueprints. Now go on. This will be much easier on your nerves if you just accept that you're sleepwalking." 

"Sleepwalking."

"Yes. There's no such thing as elves and you've been doing all of this work in your sleep the entire time." Rodney gently shoved him out the door and John, groggy with lack of sleep, decided he must have dreamed the entire encounter.

John woke up the next morning and remembered everything. He didn't know shit about elves or witches but he knew bullshit when he heard it. Sleepwalking, his ass. He fixed his coffee and padded into his workroom. There was no sign that Rodney had ever been there except for the finished model on the bench.

He needed to see Rodney again and John knew just how to do it. 

*** 

John watched Rodney blow across the top of his mug to bring his coffee down to a drinkable temperature. "You could just add milk."

"And ruin it? Not all of us are heathens. Ah, perfect. Have I ever told you how much I appreciate that it's always warm here?"

"Every day this month." John grinned at him over his own mug. "I'm glad you decided to hang around this morning. You're usually out like a shot at the crack of dawn."

"Just resting up. I'm entirely overworked and it's all your fault." Rodney sprawled in his chair, his crooked mouth turned up at one corner in a smile. "You keep putting out supplies and I have to keep putting them together for you."

The chair was a large, overstuffed beast covered in soft, blue velveteen. John had Ronon help him haul it up three flights of stairs so that Rodney could have a comfortable place to sit. Seeing him sitting there, stretched out and wearing nothing but his apron, made suffering through a few sore muscles completely worth it. 

"I do appreciate it, you know, Rodney. Pegasus Aeroflight is doing better than ever thanks to you. Another couple months like this and I'll be able to start flight school—what's wrong?"

"I'm a helpful elf and, well, to be honest, you really don't need my help anymore. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep coming here. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'd miss it—and you."

John's heart sank. 

Rodney drained his mug and set it down. "Time to go. I'm sure you'll come up with something interesting for me to assemble, and I'll be back by midnight."

His own coffee sat forgotten as he watched Rodney fade away, helpless to do anything to stop it.

He'd brought Rodney here by putting out a design to complete every night, knowing Rodney would have to come. And he'd done it just because he wanted to spend more time with him.  
Maybe if he'd done one design a week, or once a month, maybe, if he hadn't worked Rodney so hard, manipulating their time together he could have strung this out to a year of visits. 

It was too late now. He'd been selfish, wanting all of Rodney's attention for himself. It was time to man up and do something for Rodney, and stop being such a selfish ass. John wasn't sure how much time he had left, so he decided do something about it tonight. 

*** 

"You got me clothes? I can't believe you got me clothes!" Rodney stared down at the finely tailored suit that John had laid out on the workbench. 

"Try them on. You're always saying how cold you are; well, consider this a thank you." The finely tailored suit was the best he could afford. Ronon had thought of the shoes and Teyla had made certain the gift included socks and underwear.

Dressed in his new finery, Rodney did a slow twirl for John, showing off his new garments. "I don't look like a helper elf anymore. I look—how do I look?"

"Handsome, very handsome." John's cheeks burned with the confession but he made himself meet Rodney's eyes.

"Thank you." Rodney touched his chest. "I feel different."

John rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm feeling different too, buddy."

"I mean I feel more, what's the word? More…solid."

"Yeah, me too. If you want to call it that."

"No, not—I mean yes—but not just that." Rodney's eyes grew round. "I think the spell is broken. I can't fade out."

"But—but, that's good, right?" John asked, stepping closer to Rodney. He reached out and touched Rodney's arm.

"Very good." A smile split across Rodney's face. "I don't know how you did it, but you broke the spell. This means I can go home." His face fell. "Except, it's been so long I don't have a home to go to."

"Yes, you do." John bit his lip, waiting for Rodney to figure out what he was really saying.

"Here? That's. Oh. I'd like that." Rodney boldly stepped into the circle of John's arms.

"Hey, maybe it was the clothes that broke the spell." John suggested.

"Possibly. Or maybe, it was your heart."

"Could be," John said, and smiled when Rodney kissed him.

~*~


End file.
